


Red Sky At Morning (3.06)

by ackles_ass_equation



Series: Superghetto [51]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Related, Episode: s03e06 Red Sky at Morning, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Screenplay/Script Format
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 02:49:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7557154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ackles_ass_equation/pseuds/ackles_ass_equation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bela gets up in tha way yet again n' again n' again as Sam n' Dean is investigatin multiple suckas whoz ass drowned even though they was nowhere near gin n juice n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sam n' Dean make tha creepy discovery dat tha suckas all saw a pimp shizzle right before dying. They tell Bela ta stay away yo, but she not so willin ta leave, as one of mah thugss payin her a shitload ta solve tha same case Sam n' Dean is investigating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. NOW

EXT. DOCKS - NIGHT  
  
An athletic lil' biatch is up fo' a run, hustlin along tha docks at night. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch stops at a wata fountain, checks her time, n' takes a thugged-out drink. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch hears thunder n' looks up, up over tha water; slidin past not too far away be a pimply oldschool sailin ship. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch removes her headphones n' stares as it crosses tha fuck into tha harbor, then vanishes. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch puts her headphones back in, still spooked, n' jogs off.   
  
INT yo. HOME - NIGHT  
  
Later, tha same biatch is showerin fo' realz. A dark figure approaches n' places his hand on tha glass of tha shower door. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch don't notice until he rubs all up in tha glass, bustin a squeakin noise. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch pokes her head up n' looks round her well-appointed bathroom yo, but sees nothing. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch goes back tha fuck into tha shower; moments lata a playa up in a thugged-out dry overcoat, whoz ass is up in tha enclosed shower wit her, grabs her from behind n' begins ta strangle her n' shiznit yo. Dude slams her against tha wallz of tha shower nuff muthafuckin times until her big-ass booty slides ta tha floor, apparently dead as fuckin fried chicken.


	2. ACT ONE

EXT. ROAD - NIGHT

DEAN is driving, SAM up in tha passengerz seat. There be a tense silence up in tha car, which DEAN breaks.

 **DEAN  
** So, I've been waitin since Maple Springs. Yo ass gots suttin' ta tell me son?

 **SAM**  
(playin dumb)  
It aint nuthin but not yo' birthday.

 **DEAN  
** No.

 **SAM  
**.. yo. Kool as fuck Purim, biatch? (laughs) Dude, I don't give a gangbangin' fuck. I have no clue what tha fuck you poppin' off about-

 **DEAN (cuttin his ass off)  
** Therez a funky-ass cap missin from tha Colt. Yo ass wanna tell me how tha fuck dat happened, biatch? I know it wasn't mah dirty ass. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So unless you was blastin at some incredibly evil cans...

 **SAM  
** Dean ...

 **SAM  
** Yo ass went afta her, didn’t yo slick ass, biatch? Da Crossroadz Demon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. Afta I holla'd at you not to.

 **SAM  
** Yeah, well...

 **DEAN  
** Yo ass could have gotten yo ass capped dawwwg!

 **SAM  
** I didn't.

 **DEAN  
** And you blasted her muthafuckin ass.

 **SAM  
** Bitch was a smartass!

 **DEAN (afta a funky-ass beat)  
** So, what, biatch? Do that, do dat mean I be outta mah deal?

 **SAM  
** Don't you be thinkin I might have mentioned dat lil fact, Dean, biatch? No. Someone else holdz tha contract.

 **DEAN  
** Who?

 **SAM  
** Bitch wouldn't say.

 **DEAN  
** Well, we should smoke up who. Of course, our dopest lead would be tha Crossroadz Demon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Oh, wait a minute...

 **SAM  
** Thatz not funky.

 **DEAN  
** Fuck dat shit, itz not son! Dat shiznit was a wack freakin risk, n' you shouldn't have done dat shit.

 **SAM  
** I shouldn't have done it, biatch? Yo ass is mah brother, Dean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. And no matta what tha fuck you do, I'ma try n' save you, biatch fo' realz. And I be shizzle as a muthafucka not gonna apologize fo' it, all right?

DEAN is silent. SAM shakes his head up in exasperation. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch.

 

 

INT. GERT'S HOME - DAY

SAM n' DEAN is impersonatin foolz of tha law ta rap battle a witness. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch is holdin a gangbangin' framed photograph of tha shower-drownin victim. Da witness' name is GERTRUDE CASE, a elegant n' well-groomed n' approximately 70 year oldschool biatch. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. As tha scene continues, da hoe begins ta flirt shamelessly wit SAM.

 **GERT  
** But I don't understand. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I already went over all dis wit tha other detectives.

 **DEAN  
** Right, yes. But, see, we wit tha Sheriffz Department, not tha five-o department- different departments.

 **SAM  
** So, Mrs. Case...

 **GERT  
** Please. (Lookin intently at SAM.) Ms. Case. 

 **SAM  
** Okay. Um,  _Ms._  Case, um... you was tha one whoz ass found yo' niece, erect? 

 **GERT  
** I came home, dat biiiiatch was up in tha shower. 

 **SAM  
** Drowned? 

 **GERT  
** So tha coroner say. Now, you tell me, how tha fuck can one of mah thugs drown up in tha shower? 

 **SAM  
** How tha fuck would you describe Sheilaz behavior up in tha minutes before her dirtnap, biatch? I mean, did her big-ass booty seem frightened, biatch? Maybe her big-ass booty holla'd suttin' outta tha ordinary, or ...? 

 **GERT  
** Wait a minute. Yo ass is hustlin wit Alex, aren't yo slick ass? 

 **DEAN  
** Yep fo' realz. Absolutely. Thatz (laughs) Alex n' us, our slick asses like dis y'all. 

 **GERT  
** Why didn't you say so, biatch? Alex has been such a cold-ass lil comfort. But I’m sorry bout dat bullshit.. n' you KNOWS tha case was solved.

 **SAM  
** Uh... Well, no. Fuck dat shit, not yet.

 **GERT  
** I see.

 **SAM  
** So, anyways, we was poppin' off bout yo' niece.

 **GERT  
** Well, yes. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sheila mentioned suttin' like strange before her dope ass died. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Biatch holla'd her big-ass booty saw a funky-ass boat.

 **DEAN  
** A boat?

 **GERT  
** Yes yes y'all. One minute dat shiznit was there, then dat shiznit was gone. Well shiiiit, it just disappeared right before her eyes. Yo ass be thinkin it could be a ... pimp ship, biatch? Alex be thinkin it could be a pimp ship. (Bitch be addressin all her comments ta SAM, starin at his ass intently.)

 **SAM (thrown off by her intense regard)  
** Well, um ... Could be.

 **GERT**  
Well. Yo ass let me know if there be a anythang else I can do fo' you, biatch.  
(she traces a gangbangin' finger slowly along SAM'S hand; SAM looks uncomfortable, n' DEAN clears his cold-ass throat, smirkin broadly)  
Anythang at all.

 

EXT. DOCKS - DAY

DEAN n' SAM strutt along tha docks. Da wata is crowded wit pristine, moderately sized boats.

 **DEAN  
** What a wild-ass oldschool broad.

 **SAM  
** Why, biatch? Because da hoe believes up in pimps?

 **DEAN  
** (laughs) Look at you, stickin up fo' yo' hoe yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin'. Yo ass cougar hound.

 **SAM  
** Bite mah dirty ass.

 **DEAN  
** Yo, not if da hoe bites you first. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So, whoz dis Alex, biatch? We gots another playa up in town?

 **SAM  
** Maybe, maybe not. Don't chizzle our thang.

 **DEAN  
** And what tha fuck looked like a pimp ship, right?

 **SAM  
** Yeah. It aint nuthin but not tha straight-up original gangsta one sighted round here, either n' shit. 

 **DEAN  
** Really?

 **SAM  
** Yeah. Every 37 years, like clockwork, reportz of a vanishin three-mast clipper shizzle up in tha bay fo' realz. And every last muthafuckin 37 years, a rash of weirdo, dry-land drownings.

 **DEAN  
** So, whateverz goin' down is just gettin started.

 **SAM  
** Yeah.

 **DEAN  
** Whatz tha lore?

 **SAM  
** Well, there be apparitionz of oldschool wrecks sighted all over tha ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da  _S.S. Violet_ , tha  _Griffin_ , tha  _Flyin Dutchman_ \- almost all of dem is dirtnap omens.

 **DEAN  
** So, what tha fuck happens, biatch? Yo ass peep tha shizzle n' then all dem minutes later, you pucker up n' lick yo' ass peace out?

 **SAM  
** Basically.

 **DEAN  
** Whatz tha next step?

 **SAM  
** I gotta I.D. tha boat.

 **DEAN  
** That shouldn't be too hard. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I mean, how tha fuck nuff three-mast clipper ships have wrecked off tha coast?

 **SAM  
** I checked dat too, actually. Over one hundred n' fifty.

 **DEAN  
** Wow.

 **SAM  
** Yeah.

 **DEAN  
** Crap.

 **SAM  
** Mm-hmm.

  
They approach a empty parkin space; DEAN looks around, confused. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!

 **DEAN  
** This is where we parked tha car, right?

 **SAM  
** I thought so.

 **DEAN  
** Wherez mah car?

 **SAM  
** Did yo dirty ass feed tha meter?

 **DEAN (voice startin ta rise up in panic)  
** Yes, I fed tha meter n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sam, wherez mah car, biatch? Some Muthafucka stole mah CAR!

 **SAM  
** Yo, hey, hey dawwwwg! Calm down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Dea-

 **DEAN**  
I be calmed down! Some Muthafucka stole mah ca-  
(he begins hyperventilating, bendin over ta clutch his knees ta quit trippin' out)

 **SAM  
** (afta lookin around, hears DEAN gaspin n' runs over ta him) Whoa. Dean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Yo, hey, hey. Take it easy as fuck .

 **BELA**  
(saunterin up)  
Da '67 Impala, biatch? Was dat yours?

 **SAM  
** Bela.

 **BELA  
** I be sorry as a muthafucka bout dat bullshit. I had dat hoopty towed.

 **DEAN  
** Yo ass what?!

 **BELA  
** Well, dat shiznit was up in a tow-away unit.

 **DEAN  
** Fuck dat shit, it wasn't! 

 **BELA  
** Dat shiznit was when I finished wit dat shit. 

 **DEAN  
** What tha hell is you even bustin here? 

 **BELA**  
(flippantly)  
A lil yachting.

 **SAM  
** Yo ass is Alex. Yo ass is hustlin wit dat oldschool lady.

 **BELA  
** Gertz a thugged-out dear oldschool playa.

 **DEAN  
** Yeah, right. Whatz yo' angle?

 **BELA  
** Therez no angle. Therez a shitload of ghettofab oldschool dem hoes like Gert up n' down tha eastsideern seaboard. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I push dem charms, big-ass up séances so they can commune wit they dead cats.

 **DEAN  
** And let me guess, itz all a cold-ass lil con, none of itz real.

 **BELA  
** Da comfort I provide dem is straight-up real.

 **SAM  
** How tha fuck do you chill at night?

 **BELA  
** On silk sheets, rollin naked up in scrilla. (DEAN visualizes, nodz slightly.) Really, Sam. I'd expect tha attitude from his ass yo, but yo slick ass?

 **SAM  
** Yo ass  _shot_  me!

 **BELA**  
I barely grazed you, biatch. (SAM looks exasperated, while DEAN shrugs up in mute acknowledgement of BELAz point.)  
(to DEAN)  
Cute. But a lil' bit of a thugged-out drama biatch, yeah?

 **DEAN  
** Yo ass do know what tha fuck be happenin round here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. This pimp-shizzle thang, it is real.

 **BELA  
** I be aware. Thanks fo' spittin some lyrics ta Gert tha case wasn't solved, by tha way.

 **DEAN  
** It aint.

 **BELA  
** Bitch didn't give a fuck dis shit. Now tha oldschool bagz stopped payment n' her dope ass demandin some real lyrics. Look... just stay outta mah way before you cause any mo' shit. I'd git ta dat hoopty if I was you, biatch... before they find tha arsenal up in tha trunk. (Bitch turns around.) Ciao.

She leaves.

 **DEAN  
** Can I blast her?

 **SAM  
** Not up in dis biatch.

 

 

INT yo. HOUSE - NIGHT

A playa up in his cold-ass thirtizzles is washin his wild lil' grill all up in tha bathroom sink fo' realz. A dark figure passes behind him, n' tha pimpin' muthafucka turns.

 **MAN  
** Hello?

Dude turns back ta finish washin his wild lil' face. When tha pimpin' muthafucka turns round again n' again n' again tha bathtub is nearly filled wit murky gin n juice n' shit. Confused, he kneels down beside tha tub n' fiddlez wit tha drain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Suddenly a hand blasts outta tha water, grabs his ass by tha neck n' stranglez his muthafuckin ass. Veins pop on his wild lil' forehead n' his wild lil' fuckin eyes roll back up in his head. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!


	3. ACT TWO

EXT yo. HOUSE - DAY

Da last victimz doggy den has become a cold-ass lil crime scene. BELA, impersonatin a hustla, is rap battlein a gangbangin' finger-lickin' distraught playa whoz ass is tha victimz brother.

 **WARREN  
** No. Da five-o holla'd dat da ruffneck drowned yo, but ... I don't u-understand how... 

 **BELA  
** I be so sorry fo' yo' loss, Mista Muthafuckin Warren. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Now, if you could just tell me one mo' time bout tha shizzle yo' brutha saw.

DEAN n' SAM approach, bustin suits n' flashin badges.

 **DEAN  
** Ma'am, I be thinkin dis manz been all up in like enough cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. Yo ass should go.

 **BELA  
** But I just have all dem mo' thangs.

 **SAM (firmly)  
** Fuck dat shit, you don't.

 **BELA (shootin daggers wit her eyes at SAM n' DEAN)  
** Nuff props fo' yo' time.

 **DEAN  
** Sorry you had ta deal wit dis shit. They're like ROACHES (his voice raises so dat BELA, struttin away, can hear; dat dunkadelic hoe turns n' looks back at him)

 **SAM (leadin MR. WARREN away)  
** So, our crazy asses heard you say yo' brutha saw a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass ship.

 **WARREN  
** Yeah, thatz right.

 **DEAN  
** Did tha pimpin' muthafucka rap what tha fuck it looked like?

 **WARREN  
** It was, uh... like tha oldschool Yankee clippers fo' realz. A smugglin vessel. Da rakish topsail, a funky-ass barkentine riggin fo' realz. Angel figurehead on tha bow.

 **SAM  
** Thatz a shitload of detail fo' a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass shizzle yo' brutha saw.

 **WARREN  
** My fuckin brutha n' I was night diving. I saw tha ship, like a muthafucka.

SAM n' DEAN peep each other n' shit.

On tha other side of tha parkin lot, BELA is poppin' off ta tha real uniforms n' pointin up in DEAN n' SAM'S direction. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM notices first n' nudges DEAN. They wrap up.

 **DEAN  
** All right. Well, we'll be up in touch.

 **SAM  
** Nuff props, biatch.

 

 

EXT. WOODS - DAY

DEAN n' SAM is loadin shotguns all up in tha trunk of tha IMPALA. BELA approaches from behind.

 **BELA  
** I peep you gots yo' hoopty back.

 **DEAN  
** Yo ass straight-up wanna come near me when I gots a loaded glock up in mah hands?

 **BELA  
** Now, now, nahmeean, biatch? Mind yo' blood pressure. Why is you even still here, biatch? Yo ass have enough ta I.D. tha boat.

 **SAM  
** That muthafucka back there saw tha ship.

 **BELA  
** Yeah, biatch? And?

 **SAM  
** And, he goin ta die, so we gotta save his muthafuckin ass.

 **BELA  
** How tha fuck dope.

 **DEAN  
** Yo ass be thinkin dis is funky?

 **BELA  
** Dat punk cannon fodder n' shiznit yo. Dude can't be saved up in time, n' you know dat shit.

 **DEAN  
** Yeah, well, see, our crazy asses have souls, so ... we gonna try.

 **BELA  
** Yeah, well, I be straight-up goin ta find tha shizzle n' put a end ta all dis bullshit. But you have fun.

Bout ta git up in they car, SAM n' DEAN pause.

 **DEAN  
** Yo, Bela, how'd you git like this, huh, biatch? What, did Daddy not hit you wit enough hugs or something?

 **BELA  
** I don't give a gangbangin' fuck. Yo crazy-ass daddy hit you wit enough, biatch? Don't you dare look down yo' nozzle all up in mah face. Yo ass aint betta than I am.

 **DEAN  
** Our thugged-out asses help people.

 **BELA  
** (scoffs) Come on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Yo ass do dis outta vengeizzle n' obsession. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Yo ass be a stonez throw from bein a serial killa n' shit. Whereas I, on tha other hand, I git paid ta do a thang n' I do dat shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So, you tell me- which is healthier?

 **SAM  
** Bela, why don't you just leave, biatch? We've gots work ta do.

 **BELA  
** Yeah. Yo ass is 0 fo' 2. Bang-up thang so far.

She leaves.

 

 

EXT. WARREN HOUSE - NIGHT

SAM n' DEAN is stakin up tha home of PETER WARREN (the victimz brother). They're up in tha IMPALA, n' SAM is bustin research, readin papers.

 **DEAN  
** Anythang good?

 **SAM  
** Fuck dat shit, not straight-up. I mean, both brothers is Dude Universitizzle grads. No criminal record. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I mean, all dem speedin tickets, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. They inherited they fatherz real estate fortune six muthafuckin years ago.

 **DEAN  
** How tha fuck much?

 **SAM  
** $112 million.

 **DEAN**  
(whistles)  
Sick game.

 **SAM  
** Yeah. I mean, sick, clean, aboveboard. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! So why did they peep tha ship, biatch? Why Sheila, too, biatch? What do they all have up in common?

 **DEAN  
** Maybe nothing.

 **SAM  
** No. Therez always something.

 **PETER**  
(hez spotted them, n' has come outta his fuckin lil' doggy den toward them, stoppin inside his securitizzle gate)  
Yo, you, nahmean biiiatch?

 **DEAN  
** I be thinkin we've been made.

They git outta tha hoopty n' approach his muthafuckin ass.

 **PETER  
** What is you muthafuckas bustin?! Yo ass watchin me son?

 **SAM  
** Sir, quit trippin' out. Please.

 **PETER  
** Yo ass muthafuckas aren't cops muthafucka! Not dressed like dis shit. Not- not up in dat crappy car.

 **DEAN  
** Whoa, hey. No need ta git nasty.

 **SAM  
** We is cops, aiiight, biatch? We undercover n' shit. Our thugged-out asses here cuz we be thinkin you up in danger.

 **PETER  
** From who?!

 **SAM  
** If you just settle down, we'll rap bout dat shit.

 **PETER**  
Look, you muthafuckas just stay away from me biaatch!  
(Dude runs ta his own hoopty n' starts ta drive it toward tha gate.)

 **SAM  
** Wait!

 **DEAN  
** Yo, you moron! We tryin ta help you, nahmean biiiatch?

As PETERz hoopty approaches tha gate, tha hoopty shudders, coughs, n' dies. Put ya muthafuckin choppers up if ya feel dis! 

 **DEAN  
** That can't be good.

 **SAM  
** No. Git tha salt gun.

DEAN runs back ta tha IMPALA as SAM dashes ta help. Inside PETERz car, a spirit dressed up in oldschool seamanz threadz n' a navy coat, his fuckin long afro drippin tha fuck into his wild lil' fuckin eyes, appears up in tha rear seat. PETER turns ta look but tha spirit is gone; then it re-appears up in tha front passenger seat. Well shiiiit, it turns ta PETER n' glares, then reaches up ta bust a nut on his cheek. PETER convulses, chokin on wata dat spizzlez outta his crazy-ass grill n' strugglin ta git a funky-ass breath yo. Dude scrabblez fo' tha door, which locks itself, n' da perved-out muthafucka slumps over n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM arrives all up in tha car.

 **SAM  
** Peter!

PETER don't respond yo, but tha spirit glares straight at SAM. DEAN arrives on tha other side n' aims tha salt glock all up in tha spirit, n' I aint talkin bout no muthafuckin Jack Daniels neither. Shiiit, dis aint no joke.

 **DEAN  
** Sam!

SAM ducks as DEAN fires. Da spirit disappears, n' DEAN reaches all up in tha shattered glass ta unclock tha hoopty doors. SAM yanks tha drive-side door open. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude pulls Peta back n' checks fo' a pulse yo, but afta all dem secondz his shouldaz slump n' da perved-out muthafucka sighs, bobbin his head at DEAN. DEAN kicks tha door up in frustration. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch.

 


	4. ACT THREE

SAM & DEAN is rollin along up in tha IMPALA wit tha radio going, poppin' off bout tha incomin drizzle n' shit. 

**RADIO  
** _When what tha fuck started up as a mild (inaudible) severe drizzle front headed up in from tha Northwest. Expect heavy lightnin n' thunder, wit sudden rainfall-_

**DEAN  
** (Shuts off radio) Do you wanna say it or should I?

 **SAM  
** What?

 **DEAN  
** Yo ass can't save everybody, Sam.

 **SAM  
** Yeah, right, so- so what, you feel betta now or what?

 **DEAN  
** Fuck dat shit, not straight-up.

 **SAM  
** Me neither.

 **DEAN  
** Yo ass gotta understa-

 **SAM (cuts his ass off)  
** It’s just lately, I feel like I can't save anybody.

(Eerie noize followed by a view of tha IMPALA speedin along)

 

 

DAYTIME, outside tha doggy den SAM & DEAN is stayin in.

INTERIOR: SAM is reading, DEAN on his thugged-out lil' phone.

(A knock all up in tha door)

(DEAN checks tha door n' sees dat it is BELA; SAM & DEAN share a long-ass look before DEAN opens tha door.)

 **BELA**  
Dear ... Dogg. (SAM sighs.) Is you straight-up squatting, biatch? Charming.  
(beat) So how'd thangs go last night wit Peter?

SAM n' DEAN don't respond.

 **BELA  
** That well, huh?

 **DEAN  
** If you say 'I holla'd at you so', I swear ta Dogg I be bout ta start swinging.

 **BELA  
** Look, I be thinkin tha three of our asses should gotz a heart-to-heart.

 **DEAN  
** Thatz assumin dat you gotz a ass.

 **BELA  
** Dean, please... I be sorry as a muthafucka bout what tha fuck I holla'd before, aiiight, biatch? I come bearin gifts.

 **SAM  
** Such as?

 **BELA  
** I've ID'd tha ship. (Bitch starts ta unzip a portfolio file.)

 

_A SHORT WHILE LATER_

**BELA  
** It aint nuthin but tha  _Espírito Santo_ , a merchant sailin vessel, like a cold-ass lil colorful history. In 1859 a sailor was accused of treason. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude was tried aboard shizzle up in a kangaroo court n' hanged. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude was 37.

 **SAM  
** Which would explain tha 37 year cycle.

 **BELA  
** Aren't you a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass sharp tack, biatch? (beat) Therez a photo of his ass somewhere ... (flippin all up in file) ... here.

 **DEAN  
** Isn't dat tha hustla we saw last night?

 **BELA  
** Yo ass saw him?

 **DEAN  
** Yeah, thatz him, except da thug was missin a hand.

 **BELA  
** His right hand?

 **SAM  
** How'd you know?

 **BELA  
** Da sailorz body was cremated yo, but not before they cut off his hand ta cook up a hand of glory.

 **DEAN  
** A hand of glory, biatch? I be thinkin I gots one of dem all up in tha end of mah Thai massage last week (laughs).

 **SAM  
** Dean, tha right hand of a hanged playa be a straight-up occult object. It aint nuthin but straight-up powerful.

 **BELA  
** So they say.

 **DEAN  
** And officially counts as remains.

 **SAM  
** But still, none of dis explains why tha pimp is choosin these suckas.

 **BELA  
** I be bout ta rap why. Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck cares, biatch? Find tha hand, burn it, n' stop tha bloody thang.

 **DEAN  
** I don't git dat shit. Why is you spittin some lyrics ta our asses all of this?

 **BELA  
** Because I know exactly where tha hand is.

 **DEAN  
** Where?

 **BELA  
** At tha Sea Pines Museum. It aint nuthin but a macabre bit of maritime history. But I need help.

 **SAM  
** What kind of help?

BELA smiles.

 

 

EVENING. Da doggy den is filled wit lit candles. BELA is waitin up in tha livin room of SAM & DEANz house; no one else be around. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! BELA is bustin a evenin gown wit like a shitload of glittery necklace.

 **BELA  
** (to DEAN) What tha fuck iz takin so long, biatch? Samz already halfway there... wit his fuckin lil' date.

 **DEAN  
** So not aiiight wit this!

 **BELA  
** What is you, a biatch? Come down already.

Jizzy Bond-ish theme tune as DEAN descendz tha stairs. BELA sighs up in appreciation. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch.

 **DEAN  
** All right, git it up- I look ridiculous.

 **BELA  
** Not exactly tha word I'd use.

 **DEAN  
** What?

 **BELA  
** Yo ass know, when dis is over, we should straight-up have mad salty sex.

 **DEAN  
** (beat; shifts uncomfortably) Don't objectify mah dirty ass. (beat) Let’s go.

 

 

DEAN n' BELA pull tha fuck into tha Sea Pines Museum parkin lot up in tha IMPALA.

 

  
Interior. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Murmurs from tha black tie gathering.

BELA n' DEAN strutt in, arm up in arm. BELA handz a invitation ta tha doorman. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch.

 **BELA  
** Is you chewin gum, biatch? (beat) Try ta behave as if you've lived dis game before, yeah?

DEAN looks around, takes up his wild lil' freakadelic gum, n' sticks it under tha flowin champagne fountain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. BELA looks appalled n' rolls her eyes. DEAN gives her a thumbs-up n' they strutt tha fuck into tha gathering.

 

GERT is handin her invitation ta tha doorman. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Her afro is down, n' dat biiiiatch strutts over ta SAM, also up in a tux, lacin her arm all up in his.

 **GERT  
** This'll git they tongues wagging, eh, mah Adonis?

 **SAM  
** (sighs) Just remember, we on bidnizz.

 **GERT  
** Ooooh yo, but sometimes bidnizz can be pleasure, hmm, biatch? (she slides a hand up his chest seductively)

 **SAM  
** Right.

They strutt arm-and-arm tha fuck into tha room. GERT runs a hand over SAMz back possessively. SAM chucklez nervously.

 **SAM  
** Yo ass know, uh, could you excuse me fo' a moment, biatch?

 **GERT  
** Of course. (Bitch cook up a sort of coochie-coo expression at SAM.)

 **SAM  
** Great. Thanks. Thanks. (SAM pats her hand n' strutts over ta BELA n' DEAN.) Exactly how tha fuck long do you expect me ta entertain mah date?

 **BELA  
** As long as it takes.

 **DEAN  
** Look, there be a securitizzle all over dis place, all right. This be a uncrashable jam without Gertz invitation, so...

 **SAM  
** We can crash anything, Dean.

 **DEAN  
** Yeah, I know yo, but dis is easier n' itz a shitload mo' entertaining.

 **SAM  
** Yo ass know there be limits ta what tha fuck I be bout ta do, right?

 **DEAN  
** Ah, he playin hard ta get, thatz cute. Come on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. (sighs) I want all tha details up in tha morning!

SAM smilez tightly.

 **BELA  
** Nuff props, biatch.

DEAN n' BELA strutt off.

SAM adjusts his cold-ass tuxedo thankin bout his next move. Two glassez of champagne step tha fuck up before him, followed by GERTz hand, offerin his ass a glass n' a toast.

 **GERT  
** To us.

SAM looks all up in tha champagne reluctantly than swigs tha whole glass. GERT looks buckwild by his wild lil' fuckin enthusiasm.

 

 

SAM n' DEAN is struttin all up in ta a less crowded room, poppin' off up in undertones ta each other n' shit.

 **BELA  
** Private security?

 **DEAN  
** I don't be thinkin so. Look all up in tha way they standing. They're pros. Probably state troopers moonlighting.

 **BELA  
** Posted ta every last muthafuckin door, like a muthafucka.

 **DEAN  
** Yeah, I don't be thinkin our laid-back asses just goin ta be able ta waltz upstairs.

 **BELA  
** What do you suggest?

 **DEAN  
** I be thinking.

 **BELA  
** Don't strain yo ass. (beat) Interestin how tha fuck tha legend is so much mo' than tha man.

 **DEAN  
** Yo ass gots any bright ideas, I be all ears.

 **BELA  
** Okay. (BELA groans n' falls tha fuck into DEANz arms toward tha floor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. DEAN, holdin her, kneels down next ta her muthafuckin ass.)

 **DEAN  
** Honey, biatch? Honey, is you all right, biatch? (DEAN looks around, calls a waita over.) Waiter playa! Yo! Uh, mah hoe has a severe shellfish allergy. Th-erez no crab up in that, biatch? Is there, biatch?

 **WAITER  
** Fuck dat shit, sir.

 **DEAN  
** No, biatch? (Dude takes a appetizer from tha silver tray n' shoves it up in his crazy-ass grill.) Oh they pimpin, by tha way. (talkin wit his crazy-ass grill full)

 **GUARD approaches  
** What seems ta be tha shit?

 **DEAN  
** Ah ... champagne biaaatch! My fuckin hoe, she a lightweight when it comes ta tha sauce. Is there somewhere I can lay her down till she gets her sea hairy-ass legs back?

 **GUARD (looks around, towardz upstairs)  
** Big up mah dirty ass.

 **DEAN  
** Right. (Handz BELAz purse ta tha GUARD.) Nuff props, biatch. (DEAN groans as he lifts BELA up) Come on, you lush.

 

  
A few moments later, DEAN lays BELA down unceremoniously on a red leather couch.

 **DEAN (sighs)  
** (To GUARD) Yo ass be thinkin she a pain up in tha ass now, try livin wit her n' shit. (BELAz eyes pop open.) Nuff props straight-up much. (DEAN sees tha GUARD ta tha door, possibly tippin his ass or just gettin BELAz purse back, biatch? n' shuts it behind his ass as BELA sits up.)

(To BELA, as tha pimpin' muthafucka tosses her black bag ta her) Yo maybe next time break me off a lil headz up wit yo' plan?

 **BELA  
** I didn't want you thinking. Yo ass aint straight-up phat at that.

DEAN exhales.

 **BELA  
** Oh, peep you, biatch. Searchin fo' a witty rejoinder.

 **DEAN  
** Screw you, biatch.

 **BELA**  
Straight-up Oscar Wilde.   
Room 235. It aint nuthin but up in a locked glass case wired fo' alarm, I be shizzle dat won't be a problem.

 **DEAN  
** (mumblez mockingly)  _I be shizzle dat won't be a problem._

DEAN strutts up tha door, leavin BELA on tha couch lookin smug.

 

(Downstairs. Somethang almost tango-esque is playing. GERT n' SAM is ridin' dirty.)

 **GERT  
** Wherez Alex n' yo' playa, biatch? They're missin a pimped out party.

 **SAM  
** Umm, ah, I be shizzle they’re entertainin theyselves.

 **GERT  
** Oooh, naughty. Then I guess we'll just gotta entertain ourselves as well.

GERTz hand slides down SAMz back n' gooses his thugged-out ass. SAM jumps.

 **SAM  
** Whoa, uh … (GERT giggles) Ha, y-you know, Mrs. Case, I- (GERT ooh, ooh, ooh), I be sorry,  _Ms._  Case ... I don't wanna hit you wit tha wack idea.

 **GERT  
** Call me Gert.

 **SAM  
** (makes a awkward noise) Okay.

 **GERT (lays her head on SAMz broad chest)  
** Yo ass remind mah crazy ass of mah late homeboy.. yo. Dude was shy too ... till we gots below deck. (offscreen, GERT grabs at SAM'S butt)

 **SAM  
** Whoa-oa! Unh....

 **GERT  
** Mmmm, you just firm all over, ooh, mmm. (laughs n' moans)

SAM looks freaked up by how tha fuck rapidly dis date is blowin tha fuck up beyond his control.

 

  
DEAN is upstairs bustin high-tech burglary n' retrievin tha hand of glory.

We peep BELA movin round up in a gangbangin' finger-lickin' different room, lookin at a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass shizzle up in a funky-ass bottle.

Therez a knockin on BELAz door. Shiiit, dis aint no joke.

 **GUARD  
** Sir, biatch? Ma'am, biatch? Everythang all right?

 **BELA  
** (answers tha door clutchin at her dress, gasping, n' smilin as if caught up in tha act) Hi.

 **GUARD  
** Feelin better, I see.

 **BELA  
** Yes, much. Nuff props, biatch.

 **GUARD  
** So, if you done wit tha room..., biatch?

 **BELA  
** Well... not exactly. Could our crazy asses have all dem mo' minutes?

 **GUARD  
** Uh.... Yes yes y'all, ma'am.

 **BELA  
** (BELA closes tha door n' gigglez loudly: "Quit dat shiznit son! That tickles!")

Walkin round tha corner his thugged-out lil' punk-ass bumps tha fuck into DEAN, comin from downstairs.

 **DEAN  
** Whoa. Sorry dawwwwg! It's, uh ... nature called.

 **GUARD  
** Ah huh.

 **DEAN  
** Thanks fo' lookin afta mah hoe.

 **GUARD  
** Oh, she ... bein looked after, all right.

Da GUARD wheels round n' strutts off wit a smile at DEANz expense. DEAN looks puzzled n' then goes ta BELAz room.

 

Openin tha door, da perved-out muthafucka sees BELA adjustin her sleeve.

 **DEAN  
** Any shit?

 **BELA  
** Nothang I couldn't handle. Da hand, biatch? (DEAN pulls a wizened human hand outta his thugged-out lil' pocket. BELA approaches n' holdz up her own hand.) May I?

 **DEAN  
** No. (DEAN pulls it back away from her, then unfoldz a handkerchizzle ta wrap dat shit.)

 **BELA  
** It might be mo' inconspicuous up in mah purse.

 **DEAN  
** Sick try.

 **BELA  
** Just tryin ta be helpful.

 **DEAN  
** Well, dopeheart, I don't need yo' kind of help. (DEAN tucks tha hand back tha fuck into his jacket pocket.)

 

(Downstairs)

GERT is still leanin tha fuck into SAMz chest, clutchin a empty champagne flute. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch seems like a lil' bit tipsy.

 **SAM  
** Man, dis is one long song.

 **GERT  
** (Breathes deeply) I hope it never ends. (pause while SAM looks deeply pained) Howz tha investigation going?

 **SAM  
** These thangs take time.

 **GERT  
** Muthafuckas is poppin' off bout tha Warren brothers’ dirtnaps. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Strange. Do you be thinkin it’s connected ta Shelia's?

 **SAM  
** Yeah. Yeah, we be thinkin so.

 **GERT  
** I be thinkin they had it coming, you know. In a Biblical sort of way.

 **SAM  
** What do you mean?

 **GERT  
** Yo ass know bout they father?

 **SAM  
** No?

 **GERT  
** Come here, I be bout ta whisper it ta you, biatch.

 **SAM  
** (as GERT pulls his head down ta her grill) Uh-

 **GERT  
** Muthafuckas say dat tha oldschool playa didn't take a thugged-out dirtnap of  _natural_  causes.

 **SAM (grimacing)  
** Then how?

 **GERT (caressin him, as dat biiiiatch whispers n' blows tha fuck into his wild lil' fuckin ear)  
** Rumor is tha thugs done did dat shit. Nothang was eva proved yo, but, uh, playas still whisper.

 **SAM  
** Okay, aiiight, aiiight. (wincin n' pullin away) Um, um, so did, did, did Sheila have any connection ta them?

 **GERT  
** Well, none dat I know of.

 **SAM  
** Did Sheila have any kind of fuck up in her game?

 **GERT  
** Yes yes y'all. As a matta of fact there was a ... hoopty accident when dat biiiiatch was a teenager.

 **SAM  
** What happened?

 **GERT  
** Her hoopty flipped over n' shit. Biatch was all gravy but her cousin Brian was capped. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Why, is dat blingin?

 **SAM  
** Uh...

BELA n' DEAN approach.

 **BELA  
** Well! Havin a sick time?

 **GERT**  
Dat punk delightful!  
(low, ta BELA) Dude wants me!

 **BELA  
** Oh!

DEAN has a look of surprise on his wild lil' grill n' SAM looks abashed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!

 **BELA  
** (whisperin ta SAM & DEAN) I be goin ta git Gert tha fuck into a cold-ass lil cold shower.

 **SAM  
** Great idea.

 **BELA, escortin GERT up tha door,  
** (to SAM & DEAN) See you all up in tha cemetery.

DEAN checks his thugged-out lil' pocket, then turns ta SAM.

 **DEAN  
** Yo ass stink like sex.

 

 

Outside tha Sea Pines Museum, up in tha parkin lot. SAM n' DEAN is gettin tha fuck into tha IMPALA.

 **SAM  
** Yo ass gots it, right, biatch? Tell me I didn't git groped all night by Mrs yo. Havisham fo' nothing.

 **DEAN  
** I gots dat shit... Mrs. Who?

 **SAM  
** Never mind. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Just let me peep dat shit.

DEAN pulls suttin' outta his thugged-out lil' pocket n' starts unwrappin it, lookin uptight.

 **SAM  
** What?

DEAN holdz up tha shizzle up in tha forty dat BELa had been lookin at up in tha crib.

 **DEAN  
** I'ma bust a cap up in her muthafuckin ass.

 

 

BELAz car. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. A purse is tossed onto tha seat. BELA shuts tha door, n' looks up in tha purse at nuff muthafuckin packetz of bills wit $10,000 wrappers on dem wild-ass muthafuckas. Biatch pulls one up n' flips all up in it wit a satisfied expression on her face, then stares up tha fuck into space fo' a moment. In tha direction of tha ocean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. A look of consternation passes over her features.

 **BELA  
** Oh, no.

A creakin sound is heard. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! BELA gets outta her hoopty ta look mo' closely all up in tha pimp ship, which she now sees approachin wit thunder n' lightning.

 


	5. ACT FOUR

Da doggy den SAM & DEAN is squattin up in is lit by candles.

DEAN is examinin tha ship-in-a-forty by tha light of one of tha candles.

 **DEAN  
** Yo ass know what, you’re right. I aint gonna bust a cap up in her n' shit. I be thinkin slow torturez tha way ta bounce tha fuck out.

 **SAM  
** Dean, look, you gotta chillax.

 **DEAN  
** Relax! Oh yeah, yeah, I be bout ta chillax. I can't believe she gots another one over on us!

 **SAM (looks up)  
** You.

 **DEAN  
** What?

 **SAM  
** I...I mean, she gots ... one over ... on you, ... not us.

 **DEAN (pause)  
** (loudly) Nuff props, nahmean biiiatch, biatch? Sam. Straight-up helpful.

(Rapid knockin all up in tha door)

 **BELA  
** Hello, biatch? Could you open up, biatch? (DEAN opens tha door) Just let me explain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. (SAM n' DEAN look pissed.)

 

  
INSIDE, a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass short while later n' shit. BELA is chillin; DEAN is leanin over her, lookin like, "I knew dat shiznit son!" SAM is leanin against tha mantel, wit straight-up biiiatchface.

 **BELA  
** I sold dat shit. I had a funky-ass buyer lined up as soon as I knew it existed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shiznit happens all tha time. 

DEAN, furious, strutts round her n' cook up a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass blastin motion wit his wild lil' fingers.

 **SAM  
** So tha whole reason fo' our asses goin ta tha charitizzle bizzle was...?

 **BELA  
** I needed a cold-ass lil cover n' shit. (SAM nods.) Yo ass was convenient.

 **SAM  
** Look, you sold it ta a funky-ass buyer n' shit. Just go loot it back.

 **BELA  
** It aint nuthin but halfway across tha ocean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I can't git it back up in time.

 **DEAN  
** In time fo' what?

BELA looks down, without answerin right away.

 **SAM  
** Whatz goin on wit you, Bela, biatch? Yo ass be lookin like you've peeped a pimp.

 **BELA  
** I saw tha ship.

 **DEAN  
** Yo ass what, biatch? (pause) Fuck dat shit, you know, I- I knew you was a immoral thievin con artist biiiatch yo, but just when I thought mah opinion of y'all couldn't git any lower-

 **BELA  
** What is you poppin' off about?

 **SAM  
** We figured up tha spirit’s motive. (Dude shows BELA a photograph) This is tha captain of our ship. Da one whoz ass hung our pimp boy.

 **BELA  
** So?

 **SAM  
** So they was brothers. Straight-up Cain n' Abel. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So now our spirit, he goin afta a straight-up specific kind of target- playas who've spilled they own crew’s blood. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! (BELA looks stunned.) See first there was Sheila whoz ass capped her cousin up in tha hoopty accident, n' tha Warren brothers, whoz ass murdered they daddy fo' tha inheritance. And now you, biatch.

 **BELA  
** Oh mah Dogg.

 **DEAN  
** So whoz ass was it, Bela, biatch? Hmm, biatch? Who'd you kill, biatch? Was it Daddy, biatch? Yo crazy-ass lil sis, maybe?

 **BELA  
** It aint nuthin but none of yo' bidnizz.

 **DEAN  
** No, biatch? Riight. Well, gotz a sick game- you know, whatever’s left of dat shit. (DEAN slaps her on tha back.) Sam, let’s go.

DEAN strutts towardz tha door, pickin up his jacket. BELA standz up.

 **BELA  
** Yo ass can't just leave me here.

 **DEAN  
** Watch us.

 **BELA  
** Please. (SAM looks down, moved.) I need yo' help.

 **DEAN  
** Our help, biatch? Now how tha fuck could a cold-ass lil couple serial killaz possibly help yo slick ass?

 **BELA  
** Okay, dat was a lil' bit harsh, I admit it yo, but it don't warrant a thugged-out dirtnap sentence.

 **SAM  
** Thatz not why you’re gonna take a thugged-out dirt nap. What'd you do, Bela?

 **BELA  
** Yo ass wouldn't understand. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! No one done did. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Never mind. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be bout ta just do what tha fuck I've always done, I be bout ta deal wit it mah dirty ass.

BELA turns ta muthafuckin bounce.

 **DEAN  
** Yo ass do realize you just sold tha one thang dat could save yo' game.

 **BELA (sadly)  
** I be aware.

 **SAM  
** Well ... (sighs) maybe not tha only thang.

DEAN looks at SAM.

 

 

Nighttime up in tha graveyard; full moon.

SAM is settin up a kind of ritual circle: five candles, a pentagram, a funky-ass bowl tha fuck into which he pours a jar of red liquid. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Another jar is on tha opposite side of tha circle, wit what tha fuck step tha fuck up ta be herbs up in dat shit. SAM places suttin' else tha fuck into tha centa of tha circle.

 **BELA (huddlin up in her jacket)  
** Do you straight-up be thinkin dis is goin ta work?

 **DEAN (leanin on a tombstone, wit a glock across his shoulder)  
** Almost definitely not.

Thunder crashes; wind whistles; drizzle starts pouring. SAM zips up his jacket (but inexplicably fails ta pull up his hood). DEAN standz up, lookin around. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!

 **DEAN  
** Sammy dawwwwg! Yo ass betta start reading.

 **SAM**  
Aziel, Castiel, Lamisniel, Rabam.  
Ehrley, et balam, ego vos conuro, per deum verum, per deum vivum (pause) cuivos cuiaves eos supermontes et per eum, qui adam, et avum formovit. Et per eum,  
(SAM shoutin mo' Latin)

 **DEAN (shouting)  
** Stay close!

 **BELA  
** Behind you, nahmean biiiatch?

Da phantom approaches n' throws DEAN all up in tha air yo. Dude hits a object wit a fucked up thud, as is his wont. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM looks up n' continues readin Latin. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da phantom reaches up ta BELA n' places his hand on her face.

BELA begins coughin up gin n juice n' shit. Da spirit watches. BELA falls ta her knees. DEAN staggers over ta her, ta help support her all up in her heaves.

 **DEAN  
** Sammy, read faster!

BELA continues ta cough cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. Suddenly tha drizzle takes a thugged-out dirt nap down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. BELA is coughin but it don't seem so bad. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! A creakin sound is heard. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da spiritz head slowly turns toward tha source of tha noise. Dude sees his brutha n' shit.

 **SAILOR'S GHOST  
** You... hanged me!

 **SAILOR'S BROTHER  
** I be sorry as a muthafucka bout dat bullshit.

 **SAILOR'S GHOST  
** Yo crazy-ass own brother.

 **SAILOR'S BROTHER  
** I be soopa-doopa sorry!

Da GHOST charges his BROTHER'S GHOST, n' tha two dissolve tha fuck into screams, n' a splash of gin n juice n' shit.

BELA is no longer coughin gin n juice n' shit.


	6. ACT FIVE

_Daytime._

SAM & DEAN is packing, gettin locked n loaded ta leave they squatted residency.

Da door opens n' BELA strutts in.

 **BELA  
** Yo ass thugs should learn ta lock yo' doors fo' realz. Every Muthafucka could just barge in.

 **SAM  
** Every Muthafucka just done did. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Did yo dirty ass come ta say peace out or give props ta yo slick ass?

 **BELA  
** I've come ta settle affairs. Givin tha spirit what tha fuck he straight-up wanted, his own brutha- straight-up def, Sam. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. (Bitch tosses dem each a packet of scrilla.) It aint nuthin but ten thousand- dat should cover dat shit. (Da thugs peep tha packetz of scrilla n' then at BELA.) I don't like bein up in mah playas’s debt.

 **DEAN  
** So ponyin up ten grand is easier fo' you than a simple give props ta yo slick ass, biatch? (Bitch smilez faintly. DEAN shakes his head.) Yo ass is so damaged.

 **BELA  
** (her smile broadens) Takes one ta know one. Peace out lads. (she turns round leaves)

 **SAM  
** Bitch gots style. Yo ass gotta give her that.

 **DEAN  
** I suppose.

 **SAM  
** Yo ass know, Dean, our phat asses don't give a fuck where dis scrillaz been.

 **DEAN  
** Fuck dat shiznit yo, but I know where itz going.. fo' realz. A-HA HA!

 

 

Nighttime. In tha IMPALA, SAM is lookin at a map, DEAN is driving.

 **SAM  
** Seriously, biatch? Atlantic City?

 **DEAN**  
Hell yeah! Play some roulette fo' realz. Always bet on black.   
(pause)   
Yo listen, I've been bustin some thinking. Um ... I want you ta know I KNOW why you done did dat shit. I KNOW why you went afta tha crossroadz demon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch.

SAM sighs.

 **DEAN  
** Yo ass know, thang was reversed, I guess I'd've done tha same thang. (pause) I mean I aint blind, I peep what tha fuck you goin all up in wit dis whole deal, me goin away n' all dis shit. But you gonna be aiiight.

 **SAM**  
(looks up at that, exhales, say tonelessly)  
Yo ass be thinkin so.

 **DEAN  
** Yeah, you gonna keep hunting, y'know, you live yo' game. You’re stronger than mah dirty ass. Yo ass is biaaatch! (SAM clears his cold-ass throat) yo ass is... you gonna git over dat shit. But I want you ta know I be sorry, I’m sorry for... puttin you all up in all this, I am.

 **SAM  
** Yo ass know what, Dean, biatch? Go screw yo ass.

 **DEAN  
** What?

 **SAM  
** I don't want a apologizzle from you, nahmean biiiatch, biatch? And by tha way, I be a funky-ass big-ass pimp now, I can take care of mah dirty ass.

 **DEAN  
** Oh, well, excuse mah dirty ass.

 **SAM (voice raising)**  
So would you please quit worryin bout  _me_ , biatch? I mean thatz tha whole problem up in tha straight-up original gangsta place. I don't want you ta worry bout me, Dean, I want you ta worry bout you, nahmean biiiatch, biatch? I want you ta give a cold-ass lil crap dat you’re dying!  
(DEAN say not a god damn thang but smirks bugginly)  
So, thatz it, biatch? Nothang else ta say fo' yo slick ass?

 **DEAN  
** I be thinkin maybe I be bout ta play craps.

SAM stares at him, outraged. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Shakes his head. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Sighs up in exasperation. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch.

DEANz smile fades.

They drive on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch.


End file.
